


A Hazy Night

by StanfouQueen



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, this probably sucks i am so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 15:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11603385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StanfouQueen/pseuds/StanfouQueen
Summary: Lefou barely has time to comprehend one event before a new one happens.





	A Hazy Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BladesAndSwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladesAndSwords/gifts).



> I worry that this is dreadful. It certainly isn't one of my better fics; I sincerely apologize. I just hit a wall and had to force the rest of the words out to make it before the deadline. I might go back at some point and edit it so I don't feel like cringing when I see it.

Shivers wrack Lefou’s body, but they aren’t from cold.

He’s watching his best friend- former best friend- through the bars of the asylum wagon. Gaston manages to stir anger in the citizens of Villeneuve, cultivating it the way a gardener grows a flower; with care and precision.

Why had he never seen before how Gaston had manipulation down to an art form?

Perhaps he had been Gaston’s canvas for too long. He’d allowed Gaston to practice all his techniques without knowing it.

Lefou hangs his head, suppressing a sob, because he won’t cry in front of _them_ , not when he’s already so humiliated.

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, soft and feminine, but he shrugs it off, shaking his head. He won’t accept comfort from the daughter of the man he’d almost gotten killed, no matter how miserable he is.

The villagers get ready to charge at the castle, but Gaston insists the three people in the cart are to be driven to the asylum. Lefou sees Tom and Dick walk by the front of the carriage, commandeering two of the horses while the rest remain in place. It will make for a slower journey, but they’ll still be able to depart.

Meanwhile, Tom and Dick mount the two horses, Gaston mounts Magnifique, and Lefou’s pony, Fleur, is left to Stanley. A small part of him feels grateful for that small kindness, for he knows that Stanley has a connection with horses. At least his horse won’t be harmed, even if Lefou himself is about to be left to the mercy of an asylum.

He closes his eyes, resigning himself. He certainly won’t last much longer than Maurice, but at least he won’t be completely alone when he dies.

* * *

Being illiterate, Lefou had never had the occasion to compose a will. It had been a simple matter back during the war- a young boy like himself had so few possessions, and all of them were for his family. He’d never thought to update it after, but now he wishes he had.

He wonders who will want what. If all his things will be sold, or if there’s a chance anyone might see some sentimental value in them.

But no, the only person who would ever be interested is the reason he’s in this carriage now.

He lets out a sigh, and his eyes close from exhaustion.

Belle sets her hand on his shoulder again, and this time he doesn’t shake it off, but he doesn’t let himself feel any comfort either. Gazing skyward, he simply says, “I’m sorry.”

He is to blame for their predicament as much as Gaston. And as much as he wishes he could escape, he knows he doesn’t deserve to. He wouldn’t deserve to even if Maurice somehow managed an escape himself.

He lets his eyes drift closed, and heaves a deep sigh.

* * *

 

Noises startle him; loud jeering makes his heart plummet. Gasping, Lefou jolts awake- only then realizing that he had fallen asleep in the first place.

Maurice is on the ground, shaken and pale. Two madmen stand above him, snarling like animals.

Lefou gulps.

This is not a place for a man like Maurice. He can only hope that Belle will be treated kinder in the women’s section.

He meets Maurice’s eyes, and a somber clarity comes over him. He needs to survive, and escape, for Belle’s sake.

Lefou can’t leave Maurice for dead again. He just can’t.

And yet… he hesitates. And that hesitation makes venomous self-hatred well up in him.

When had he become such a coward? When had he allowed Gaston to steal his moral compass?

Once he would have leapt into action to save an old man. But here he is, considering abandoning a man he’s already almost gotten killed once.

No, Lefou thinks. It’s time to be brave for once. Besides, it’s not like he’d ever stood a chance here. He’s not sure it can even be called a sacrifice.

So he straightens and takes in a deep breath before stepping forward. “Leave him alone,” he says, placing himself between Maurice and the men. And then he closes his eyes, not wanting to see whatever ugly thing is sure to come.

At first there’s nothing. No noise, no sensation.

And then comes a flash of pain, first to his head and then his stomach. Before he knows it he’s falling to the ground.

Lefou gasps and holds his arms up protectively. He hears Maurice weakly begging for mercy on Lefou’s behalf, but to no avail. Pain overwhelms him, cresting in a massive wave. He gasps and curls in on himself, letting out a low moan.

The world fades. He feels a dim sense of surprise that it’s all happened so fast. So short a time ago, he and Gaston had been _Le Duo_ and everything had been right in the world, even when it wasn’t- and now he’s in an _asylum_ with Maurice, possibly dying. He’s barely been able to comprehend any of the happenings tonight, and it doesn’t seem that that’s about to change.

Lefou lets out a faint groan as his world spins. More voices ring out above him, some familiar and some not. They sound angry. And a few sound scared as well. Lefou doesn’t have the strength to pay attention to the words, nor to question the fact that no new assaults come.

He feels hands on him, strong and rough but gentle. A friendly, deep and full of fury, demands things of someone. Lefou hopes it’s not him being interrogated, because he can’t answer and he doesn’t want to upset Stanley.

The hands shake as they palpate his injuries. Lefou moans and receives an apologetic pat from an older pair of hands. Maurice, probably, or Monsieur D’Arque.

He wants to ask what’s happening, why they care _now_ of all times what happens to men in asylums. Whatever has happened in the hours- hours?- since he’d been here must have been huge.

His breathing is labored, and pain flares in his chest each time it rises and falls. It throbs and all he can do is groan again in protest, earning a comforting squeeze from Stanley. Stanley’s voice rises a few octaves, arms coming to rest on Lefou’s shoulders in a protective gesture he feels immensely grateful for.

Through the fog of pain, he finally finds enough clarity to understand Stanley’s voice, if only a little. Like a sailor following a lighthouse, he lets it guide him somewhere steady. “Just breathe, mon ami,” Lefou hears, and he tries his hardest.

“S…” he gasps, and then whimpers, clutching at his chest.

“Shh,” Stanley says, stroking his forehead. Slow, steady. Back and forth, back and forth. “Breathe,” Stanley instructs, again and again until Lefou manages to find a semblance of calm.

“We’re leaving,” Stanley growls, and Lefou immediately feels a wave of anguish at the thought of not only being abandoned, but of being left to _them_ again. But Stanley understands his mistake right away- Lefou’s face must have betrayed his emotions- and he whispers, “no, Lefou, _we’re_ leaving. You, and me, and Maurice and Belle.”

Lefou blinks in confusion and takes in a breath, but talking is beyond him, and he just lets out another sound of pain.

“Shh,” Stanley says, steadying him in his arms. “I’ll explain later, alright? Just stay awake until then.”

Lefou nods, but can’t help closing his eyes again. He’s already been emotionally drained tonight, and now he has physical wounds to complement his mental ones.

* * *

When Lefou wakes up, he finds that some of his path for the night has changed, and others haven’t. For example, he still doesn’t seem to get the chance to register one change before a new one happens.

Just as he’s accepted being committed to that godforsaken asylum, he’s been set free and brought to a hospital instead. And Stanley has more news than that; he has a long tale of a castle and a curse that ends up being difficult for Lefou to follow no matter how much Stanley truncates it.

The one thing he does understand, though, is that Gaston will not be coming back. Any hope he might have had for _Le Duo_ being reformed is gone.

Stanley looks angry at himself for revealing it, but Lefou is grateful to know not to hope for a visitor who will never come, and instead to focus on the one he does have.

Stanley is gentle and remorseful, tender and fiercely protective. He’s a lot of things that shouldn’t be able to coexist.

When Lefou thinks about it, he’s a lot of the things he wishes Gaston had been, but he’s more than that too; he’s so much more than a better Gaston. He’s _Stanley_.

And he’s Lefou’s hero, even if Stanley insists, voice filled with shame, that what he'd done wasn’t a proper rescue.

It’s enough for Lefou. It’s more than Gaston would have done for him even if he hadn’t been the reason Lefou was there at all.

Lefou wonders how long it will take his mind to catch up with the world, to comprehend all that has happened. His memories are blurred together and distorted.

He tells Stanley this, and Stanley just frowns at him, reaching out to envelope Lefou’s hand with his own once he sees that no one is looking. “Look, mon ami,” he says, frowning deeper. “I… I know I can’t say or do anything to fix this. But… I’ll try. Okay?”

And Lefou gives a sad smile. Because it’s not okay, but okay is the only thing he can let himself be.

So he squeezes Stanley’s hand back, and lets Stanley tell him about the enchanted wardrobe who put him in a dress.


End file.
